


Save The Date

by buttered_onions



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Project: PALadins, birthdays in space, so gen it will rot your teeth, space kids deserve a party, zine contribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: Homesickness in space is no joke, and Lance isn’t the only one who needs cheering up. Luckily, Hunk’s got a Plan. …assuming he can get it to work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written as a submission for Project: PALadins, a Voltron Gen zine to raise money for charity. I'm so thrilled and honored to have been able to participate!
> 
> Beta'd by the usual culprits: [mumblefox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblefox/pseuds/mumblefox), who has her own [brilliant](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9152767) [line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9153100) [of](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8309233) [work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9155425), plus [bosstoaster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster) and the [Andy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8740531/chapters/20038576). Shameless links to excellent fic. :) Thank you all.

All at once, Hunk figures out the math.

It started as a gift for Lance, originally code-named _Operation: Cheer Lance Up._ Hunk hasn’t told him it exists, which in hindsight turns out to be smart. The plan evolves into _Operation: Cheer Everyone Up_ rapidly and without warning, because it’s not just Lance. Every one of the Paladins has families they miss. Pidge’s mom, left behind on Earth. Shiro, who at least got to say goodbye to relatives who now think he’s dead and at fault. Keith must miss someone, too, even if he never says exactly who. Hunk can barely stomach thinking about his own mother and father. Something’s gotta be done.

If Hunk can’t get any of them back to Earth, Hunk’s going to do the next best thing.

It takes time but isn’t hard, even accounting for factors like artificial gravity and longer shipboard days. The equation’s constantly shifting, thanks to the frequency of their wormhole-travel as well as the diversity of gravitational pulls on the planets they visit.  Once he figures out how to add adaptable variables to the program, though, everything clicks. It’s night after night of calculations, but finally Hunk sits back from his workstation and allows himself one huge sigh of relief. Respectful moment sated, Hunk enters the correct command into the program, selects the correct Earth Time (ET) as opposed to Ship Time (ST), and hits _run._

 _03 April-month,_ the computer declares, proud and complete. _06:00 ET._

April.

The significance of it slams into him. Hunk nearly doubles over with the violent wave of homesickness, burning like bile in the back of his throat. This isn’t how he thought this would go. Making the calendar was supposed to _help_ , not hurt. He doesn’t need a reminder that he’s missing his mom’s birthday. He knows that. He _knows that_. Everyone in the universe has families; only five of them here have families _and_ Lion-shaped, universe-sized responsibilities. They can’t go back to Earth just for a day. That’s what the calendar was supposed to help.

Looking at it now, at the little clock clicking away as a graph in the corner, the sub-option to _adjust Earth Time Zone, Click Here?_

Hunk can never show anyone this calendar.

If it’s devastating to him, what would it do to the others? To Lance? His best friend’s already so desperately homesick. _Knowing_ what he’s missing, as opposed to just knowing that he _is_ missing, wouldn’t bring Lance any catharsis at all. In fact it might very well make him worse.

Hunk’s created a tool for evil, not for good.

 _Operation: Cheer_ has failed.

 

Hunk bears the weight of the failed project for two days before it hits him.

Even if the rest of the Paladins can’t know this calendar exists, there’s no reason they can’t still benefit from it. Hunk doesn’t have to let his good work go to waste. If he’s careful, and clever, there’s no reason he can’t be a - a Gatekeeper, maybe. To use the calendar for good.

Maybe there’s a way to salvage _Operation: Cheer_ after all.

 

“Make a stop?” Allura asks. “Why?”

“Just for supplies,” Hunk says. “You know, food stuffs. Party stuffs. Stuff stuffs.”

Allura’s eyes narrow, confused. “Party ‘stuffs?’ Why do we need a party?”

“Well,” says Hunk.

 

Pidge’s birthday is first. Hunk recruits Lance easily; Lance has never needed a reason to party, and jumps into it full-tilt with no questions asked. Together the two of them decorate Pidge’s lab with alien-streamers, balloons, the works. The look on Pidge’s face when she steps in is priceless.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”_

“You _guys_ ,” Pidge says, awe-struck. Keith and Shiro and the Alteans are there too; Coran’s tootling an unfamiliar tune on a kazoo-like instrument (“A traditional Altean day-of-birth song!”). “How? Is it really?”

“More or less,” Hunk says, leading her over to the pile of presents Allura’d helped him pick out. There’s even a cake, and though it’s a little lopsided, the peanut-flavored sugary treat is delicious. Hunk hadn’t even needed to dye it green. “C’mon, come see the stuff we got.”

Pidge declares it the best birthday she’s ever had.

 

 _Good not evil,_ Hunk vows, flushed with success, and revisits the calendar again.

 

Lance’s birthday is next, soon after Pidge. Since days on Earth pass faster than on the ship, it means Hunk has less time to plan for Lance’s birthday than usual. He makes it work.

Lance has always been a _celebrate promptly at midnight_ sort of person. With the extra hours of a shipboard day, _00:01_ Earth Time on Lance’s actual birthday is closer to _03:42_ Ship Time.

Hunk deliberates for maybe half a second.

 

“Oh my god,” Lance groans, after being woken up by the ship’s alarm and rushing down to Blue’s hangar, straight into the party. Everyone’s there. Pidge even helped Hunk hang leftover streamers from Blue’s jaw and drape them between her paws. The giant mechanical cat preens happily down at her Paladin and his friends, blinking groggily at _3:45._ “Hunk - what the - ?”

“Happy birthday,” Hunk grins, and shoves the sugary-slightly-less-crooked-caffeine-laden-chocolate-confection within Lance’s reach.

 

Shiro pulls Hunk aside after Lance’s party.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” he says. “I don’t want to impose on you if you’re going by the calendar year, but I was thinking: if you spring a belated birthday, the others might not notice your pattern.”

Hunk stutters, drawn short. “I - what? Who says I have a calendar? Th-that’s ridiculous.”

“Mm,” Shiro says, noncommittally. “I think we’ve skipped Keith’s birthday, in everything that’s passed. Can I help?”

 

Keith, of course, will never say how touched he is when he flicks on the lights to the training deck at _25:08_ and walks straight into a mountain of balloons. He’ll never say if he’s pleased by Lance and Pidge launching themselves at him from said mountain, wailing _Happy Belated Birthday_ at the top of their lungs while Coran toots a counterpoint on the Altean flute. Keith won’t mention it to Shiro when Shiro passes him the first birthday present, or to Allura who beams as he opens it. But if Keith folds the brightly-colored wrapping paper reverently, fingers setting it carefully aside; if he lingers a little long over the strawberry-flavored cake; if he recruits Hunk first for the balloon war that explodes when Pidge turns on the invisible maze, well.

Hunk can hear what Keith’s trying to say loud and clear.

 

Shiro’s birthday also falls in the pocket of skipped time, though he’s not the one who clues Hunk in about it. It takes a bit more planning than the others, but once the rest of the team’s on board (read: Keith nags them until they agree, not that any of them hesitate), everything comes together wonderfully.

 

Shiro thinks they’ve landed on this beautiful planet for reconnaissance, traipsing through fields full of flowers as part of a mission Allura insists has to be done on foot. This time there’s no jumping out screaming _surprise_. Rather, when it’s _13:26_ the team simply drops all their hiking materials, Hunk produces a slightly-squashed vanilla cake out of nowhere, and as Shiro’s jaw drops the team sings _Happy Birthday, Put The Flute Away Coran_ loudly enough to scare the native birds out of the trees.

They celebrate when the beaming sun’s highest in the sky, chasing away all the clouds in brilliant, vibrant pinks. Shiro’s birthday is a day outside of the castle entirely, marked less with streamers and balloons but with swimming, laughing, hiking, and sleeping out of doors.

“That was fun,” Shiro says, as they camp out that evening by a fire. The Lions have moved their giant heads so the bright stars are perfectly visible. “But shouldn’t we get back?”

“Nope,” Hunk says, fiercely.

“We’re staying tomorrow too, Shiro,” Pidge says, yawning in her sleeping bag.

Keith pokes him until Shiro finds his voice again. “I -”

“You have two birthdays to catch up on, I believe,” Allura says, softly. “Let us give this to you.”

Shiro doesn’t cry, exactly. But he laughs harder when there’s a second cake the next day, and an even louder rendition of _Happy Birthday, Coran Do You Have To,_ and the second night Hunk wakes up to Shiro sitting between his Lion’s paws as he stares up at the swirling stars.

The look of utter peace and contentment on Shiro’s face makes sleeping on rocks and bugs absolutely worth it.

 

As the Gatekeeper of the Calendar, Hunk has the disadvantage of knowing exactly what day it is, and knowing he’ll have to get through it alone.

 _Happy birthday_ , says the little notification on his screen at precisely _9:01._

He can’t do this; he can’t sit still and focus. Maybe - he could recalibrate the goo machine again? Even that might be better than sitting here by himself.

“Ah, Hunk,” Shiro greets him, when Hunk steps out into the hall. “Can I borrow you? Something’s gone wrong and you’re the only one who can help.”

“Wrong?” Hunk asks, instantly concerned. “Is your arm bothering you again?”

“You could say that,” Shiro says. “Do you have time now?”

When they get down to Hunk’s work quarters, however, all the lights are off. Which is odd, since Hunk distinctly remembers leaving them on.

He pauses outside the darkened door. Shiro waits, innocently.

…too innocent.

“Shiro,” Hunk starts.

“There’s no shame in taking a turn,” Shiro says gently, and pushes Hunk through the door.

 

The shout of _SURPRISE!_ , the fall of confetti on absolutely _everything_ (“LANCE!”), the damnable Altean-birthday-toot, and the sheer joy of _not being forgotten_ are the best possible gifts Hunk could ever, ever receive.

 

“So, about this calendar you thought you could hide behind a firewall,” Pidge says, while they’re eating burnt cake. “When were you going to tell us?”

Hunk splutters a mouthful of Nunvil all over the mice. “I - what? What? There’s no calendar -”

“You also left it up on your station on the bridge,” Keith says, patiently. “The pattern wasn’t hard.”

Hunk turns betrayed eyes on Shiro. “I thought the point was to break the pattern!”

“Did I say that?” Shiro muses, and takes an enormous bite of cake. He chokes on the flavor. Keith pounds him on the back.

“Once Keith got it, we figured out the rest,” Lance says. “It’s genius! How long have you had this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, because there definitely is no calendar,” Hunk tries.

Allura shakes her head, politely disagreeing. “It’s quite remarkable. Would it be possible to build one for Altea? Perhaps - for my birthday?”

“We can celebrate yours, but we’re not doing Coran’s,” Lance says. “Who would play the flute-thing?”

Coran brightens right up. “I would be happy to impart the tradition - "

 _“NO!”_ four Paladins shout at once, and sometime in the teasing, offended laughter that follows Hunk simply settles back and takes it all in.

It may not be the family Hunk thought he’d be celebrating his next birthday with. It’s not his parents. Lance didn’t get his with his large family; Pidge had hers without her dad, or brother, or mom. It’s not about who Shiro left behind too long ago, or whoever - if anyone - is out there looking for Keith.

But it’s what they have. They have each other.

Hunk’s not giving up _this_ family for the whole entire universe, Lion-shaped or otherwise.

 

“So this calendar,” Lance says later, slinging an arm over Hunk’s shoulders. They’re the last ones left in the room, in the liminal space of a party letdown. It’s quiet. It’s leftover. It’s just them. “Shiro said we’ve skipped a bunch of stuff. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“What’s that?” Hunk asks, wary.

Lance’s eyes gleam, sharp and not the slightest bit distraught. _“April Fool’s Day_.”

Do good, not evil.

Hunk grins.

“Not until we fix skipping Christmas,” he says, and so they do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, or pop over on [tumblr](butteredonions.tumblr.com) to say hello! I don't bite. Come yell. :)
> 
> And in case you’re wondering: yes, they do celebrate Coran’s birthday. Every single one of them learns to play the Altean Day Of Birth Toot and barrages him with it way early in the morning. Coran’s so touched he cries.


End file.
